Chapter Text
There’s a flash of blue light, a sudden flare in his eyes. On instinct, Din dives forward - and then he’s falling back, too, utterly unable to control the movement of his limbs as he goes.
He’s falling -
- until he does come to a stop, landing with a hard thud. The breath is punched out of his lungs at the impact, as he reflexively rolls several times to absorb the shock.
Din’s first thought is that the ground is warm - no, hot. Hotter even than the tropical grasses that grow abundant on Yavin, the way that the heat seeps in through his armor, crawling through the seams of his clothes.
The sky is clear and pink overhead, the only sight in his eyes while he recovers his breath. It reminds him of the clouds that gather around the horizon outside of the temple when he follows Luke and Grogu out for an early morning meditation session. When Luke tries to coax the youngling into not breaking his concentration when a frog leaps nearby, and he sends an exasperated, fond look over Grogu’s head at Din, who has never not filled with warmth at the sight of them -
Din isn’t on Yavin anymore, that much is clear.
His next thought is that they should have never gone after that farriking cube.
The air is hot and heavy, only interrupted occasionally by a brisk breeze that blows dust and plant debris around him. As Din surveys around him, he sees how the ground gives way to hills and furrows in the ground, some kind of mountains in the distance. Closer to him, there’s what appears to be a grove consisting of desert-like vegetation, a forest growing thick out of dust.
He ducks into the grove, where at least he’s offered a reprieve from the wind. Survival needs to be on his mind, first and foremost, and he needs to gather his bearings. The comm on his wrist provides no assistance - its screen cracked from his fall, and more worryingly, only offering error codes when he taps at it in frustration - and so Din sets off into the grove, using his helmet to scan ahead of him.
Luke is going to kill me, Din thinks, rather bleakly. He’s not sure what the protocol is for being attacked by ancient Jedi artifacts and getting transported to some other planet, but he suspects that he’s in for one of his disappointed looks, at the very least, when he finds him.
If he finds him. It had happened so quickly, he’s still not sure if it was the artifact itself that had exploded or if it was something that they set off. Or even if Luke had been caught in the explosion, too - though he clings onto the hope that he had been able to put himself between the Jedi and the explosion, and he hadn’t been there when Din was so unceremoniously deposited on this planet.
Din just hopes that he’ll be able to track him down and then lecture him for throwing himself into danger. It’s a conversation they’ve had before, in which Din has long learned how to grunt in acknowledgment, rather than say something like I’m never going to be able to watch you get hurt if I can do anything about it, or any number of things that he’s forced down that Luke can never know.
What’s more concerning, though, is the sound of fighting in the distance. He can hear the sounds before he sees them - the bright flashes of light in the distance, the way the ground shakes slightly every once in a while.
The downside to entering this grove, though, is that he can’t sense where exactly the fighting is coming from. The more Din walks into the vegetation, the louder the sounds get until he realizes that there’s no way to avoid it. He’s walking into some kind of confrontation, that much is clear, without an option to avoid the violence unless he’s going to try to hide in one of the trees. The sounds get close enough that he can hear shouts and the chirps of droids.
Great. Din slips his way through the trees until he comes across the edge of the clearing. He readies his blaster, takes a deep breath, then whirls out, hoping to take whatever closest enemy by surprise.
But he can’t help the surprised curse that slips out of his mouth, his gait stuttering, at what he sees, then - the sight of Imperial soldiers close to him, firing at the - quite frankly, old-fashioned droids. They're battle droids, but several generations old by Din’s estimate. Not at all what he expected.
The Imperial closest to him turns his helmet at the sight of him. But instead of firing at him now, he just exclaims, “Kriffing hell, and who are you?”
He doesn’t sound like any Imp he’s come across, but it’s little comfort. What’s far more off-putting is that Din can see how the Imperials are surrounding a man with a glowing sword - another Jedi - and what’s more, they aren’t firing at him.
They’re fighting with the Jedi, Din realizes, all of them, against these droids.
He can’t consider this for too long, though, before a blaster shot nearly takes off his head. Din moves on reflex, firing at the droid and hitting it cleanly in the center.
Seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to shoot him, the Imp turns, shooting just over the Jedi’s head to get another droid poised to fire right at him, and shouts, “We’ve got them now, boys!”
The Jedi turns around. His face is faintly familiar, something about his features reminding Din of someone else, even as he dodges a droid’s shot at him. He shouts, “Time to finish this!” before charging right into the next wave of droids.
However, in all the times that Din has seen Luke fight, it’s not been like this. Luke has never looked with such casual arrogance at droids before crumpling them with a twist of his hand. The Jedi effortlessly deflects blaster fire with the saber in his hand as he moves to attack, spinning to get close. Shot after shot, his gestures are nearly lazy, the quick flicking motion of his wrist nearly too fast to see as he slices through droid after droid.
Even if he were alone, with none of the Imperials to protect his back, Din suspects that he would still make it out of the carnage unscathed. The only similarity to Luke is how he, too, seems to be untouchable, a force of nature on the battlefield, whirling with his flashing sword like he is invincible.
(No, not untouchable - Din recalls the time when Luke had misjudged the torque of a bolt while working upside-down on his X-wing, and his spanner slipped in his grasp. The impact of it had bruised his cheek for a week. He thinks of how he’d looked when Din had been unable to control himself, and had gently touched the purple mark with the thumb of his glove. How his eyes had gone down to his mouth, slightly parted, before Din had forced himself to rip his hand away.)
He realizes, at last, that these aren't Imperial soldiers around him. Aside from not trying to kill the Jedi, they appear like the old clones that Din faintly remembers from the history lessons he was taught as a youngling. They’re in similar armor as Imps, sure, but the chipped paint on the surfaces, the way they fight together as no Imperial Din has ever come across.
It’s like he’s in one of those lessons. It’s as if he’d been transported - but no. It should be impossible.
One of the shorter battle droids rolls in behind the Jedi, in a gap between two of the troopers. Din sees it raise its muzzle at the Jedi’s unarmored back - and without thinking, Din lifts his blaster, and shoots it squarely in the weak spot of its shield.
The droid explodes in a flurry of sparks, lolling back and forth. The Jedi just glances behind him, then at Din.
He gives him a quick nod before he turns back and cleaves another one of the droids in two.
Many things in Din’s life should be impossible. But he doesn’t have a better explanation for this.
The battle is over quickly, which is perhaps good given his revelation. As Din runs a quick check over himself and his armor, in case the situation goes south from here on out, he’s aware of the soldiers coming up from behind him. They’re looking at him with no small amount of suspicion, he can tell, which is fair, given his sudden appearance. Ahead of him, the Jedi runs a hand through his hair, falling in a sweaty mess to either side of his face.
“General Skywalker,” another not-Imperial says, at his side - and Din has never been luckier to wear his armor for this moment so that they can’t see his face at the name, as the Jedi turns as if to acknowledge him - “Command wants to talk to you about the evacuation plan.”
Standing over a still-smoking husk of a droid, the Jedi answers, “In a minute. Rex?”
“We’re clear in this sector, sir,” one of the not-Imperials says, his helmet now off and in his hands. He glances at Din and says, “Did they say who sent the Mando?”
“Negative, Commander.”
The Jedi faces him fully. He’s got a scar arcing over his right eye, which pulls up slightly when he raises his brows at Din. “So who are you?”
“I’m a bounty hunter,” Din says, his voice coming out hoarse as his jaw works furiously, as he tries to contain himself. The Imperial - the clone - at the Jedi’s side puts a hand on his blaster again.
“You know,” General Skywalker says, crossing his arms - it has to be a coincidence, because if it isn't - “I didn’t expect to find a bounty hunter out here.” Maybe it’s because he knows he can probably skewer Din if he tries anything, but he doesn’t look like he’s particularly afraid of him. “Not trying to capture one of us, are you?”
Almost unwillingly, Din says, “I’m not supposed to be here.”
The clone steps forward, an edge in his voice then. “What’s a bounty hunter doing on Thabeska, then?”
“Following a lead,” Din says, adds, “I mean you and your men no harm.”
The Jedi’s mouth twitches. Din tries not to look at him. The clone just looks skeptical. “And you just stepped in to help Republic troops?”
The Republic? Oh, this is really bad. Really, really bad - “Rex,” Skywalker says again before Din can come up with an answer, “He saved my back. I mean - you’re not a spy, are you?”
Din makes himself stand rigid, unflinching. “No,” he says, eyeing the way that the clones are now surrounding him so he really can’t leave. “My ship crashed. I’m looking for another way off-planet.”
Rex’s frown remains. “Is your ship nearby?”
“It sunk,” Din says, thinking quickly, “Into the sand. The warp drive got corrupted, and I had to abandon it.”
Skywalker crosses his arms, considering him. “All right,” he says, slowly, “We’ll need to make a stop to refuel anyway, we can drop you off at the next port once we can find a way off this planet.”
“Thank you,” Din says, trying to sound like he’s not searching Skywalker’s face at the same time, at this impossible possibility.
It could be a coincidence.
“Sir,” Rex says, nearly despairingly, but Skywalker waves him off.
“If he’s a Sep, then he’s doing an awful job of it,” Skywalker says, but his eyes turn curious upon Din all the same. It’s that same calculating look that Luke gets in his eye sometimes, usually when Grogu is lying about something and he knows it. He’s never had it turned on him before, though.
So Din wills his mind to empty itself. To think about the feeling of the dust against the gap underneath his helmet, the way his shoulder still aches from his fall, earlier. Like Luke had taught him - but he can’t let himself think of him, think of anything from his time, just in case his suspicion proves correct.
It must satisfy the Jedi, though, because he then turns fully to face his commander. “Let’s go then,” Skywalker orders, “I’m going to comm Obi-Wan before the council.” He glances at Din. “What’s your name, then?”
Din can’t raise their suspicions by refusing to provide his name. But he can’t just give them all his name, either. “Dune,” he says, “Han Dune.”
“Anakin Skywalker,” the Jedi replies, the final nail in the coffin of Din’s denial. “General of the 501st. You’ll be safe with us.”
“Thank you,” Din says, again, because he’s not sure what else to say.
Because that man is Luke’s father - or will be, one day - and if he wasn’t his only ticket off of this planet, Din would shoot him where he now stands without another second of hesitation.
Luke doesn’t talk about his family much. The first few months that Din knew him, he certainly didn’t bring them up. Din’s no stranger to family issues - especially in his line of work, where disgruntled family members will tattle on their outlaw relative's location given enough coaxing or credits - and so he doesn’t think much of it.
Once the Jedi had convinced him that his attachment was not going to ruin Grogu’s happiness nor corrupt his abilities as the world’s tiniest Jedi, Din’s visits to Yavin grew in number and duration. During these visits, after Grogu would inevitably nod off after excitedly showing Din his growing collection of rocks, Din found himself hanging around Luke.
Despite the initial distrust on both ends, their friendship grew as easily as it had been to grow to love the kid as his own. Luke has an innate kindness in him unlike anyone else Din has ever met in his life. When he talks about his plans to change the galaxy, to help guide Grogu and the other Force-sensitive children to become the best versions of themselves, he truly believes every word.
It’s disarming, to be around someone so - so bright. If it were anyone else, Din would think they were full of bantha fodder, only he finds himself hanging greedily onto every word that Luke says before long. Because he starts to believe that Luke might actually be able to accomplish some of those things, because Luke is so earnest about everything he does, and he doesn’t mind when Din comes from a long, tiring job and can’t scrape together more than a few words for him, because he still greets him with that same, warm smile every time.
Din stays more and more on Yavin, in between dealing with Bo-Katan and the Mandalorians who somehow still want him to be their king, because it’s easy to find happiness there. Every time Luke quirks his mouth at him from across the dinner table when one youngling tries to fling food at another -
When he’s unerringly patient while Grogu attempts to catch a butterfly instead of focusing on meditation -
When he touches Din’s arm to get his attention, light enough to be both casual and respectful like he’s unafraid of him -
When he tells Din, “Of course he sees you as his father - “
When he says, “You deserve to be happy too - “
Well, Din hangs onto those moments too. And so it was all too easy to fall in love with him, really.
Din tells him more about what he remembers of his parents, or his life in the training corps, than anyone else he’s met in his life. He’s so focused on piecing the memories together - because no one had asked him about his parents so casually, hanging onto his every word like Din’s telling him the secrets of the universe and not how he remembers how his mother’s hair would have this faint floral scent to it when she’d pick him up - that he doesn’t notice how Luke never speaks about his own family in turn.
Until he does.
One night, Luke had been in a peculiar mood when Din had come by for their customary game of sabacc. Luke’s an awful player, and Din usually has to take pity and give him a few rounds, just so he had an excuse to stay longer, watch Luke claim that his Jedi powers extend to knowing just what Din has in his hand.
This time, though, Luke’s smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes while they play. Din had thought it had been the anniversary of the war ending that caused that melancholy, only Luke shook his head when he brought it up.
“It’s not that,” he says, then like it was hard to say out loud, “My father - I miss who he could’ve been if that makes sense. He died that day, and I know so many others did, but with him - it hurts that I’ll never really know him.”
He had looked up at Din, then, a little wary, as if gauging his reaction. When Din had waited for him to continue, a look of realization comes across his face, followed by resignation - and Luke says, “He was the Emperor’s, right-hand man. He died saving me, but for so many years - he was so many people’s worst nightmare.”
Din nods, short. He doesn’t miss the way that Luke’s metal hand flexes, and he looks at it. “Did he do that to you?”
Luke nods in brief confirmation. “He hurt my sister, too. She never wants to talk about him, and I have to respect that - but I wish we could, so he wasn’t like some kind of ghost between us even after everything. You know?”
Din has hated very few people in his life, but something beyond anger starts to curl in his stomach, low and sick, at a man he’s never met. He forces it down because it won’t help Luke, either. “Ghosts only get stronger the more you ignore them,” he says, making himself put down an unhelpful card that will mean this game will last a few more hands, at least. “I know that much.”
A faint smile comes across Luke’s face. “Do Mandalorians believe in ghosts?”
“They don’t believe in avoiding them,” Din says, and before he can stop himself, “If you ever want - I would listen.”
He’s startled by Luke’s hand on his, the heavy prosthetic pinning his to the table. “Thank you,” Luke says, his eyes liquid and so, so blue in the low light.
Din lets him turn his hand over so that his gloved fingers are between his. “Of course,” he says, his voice hoarse, as he lets Luke absolutely squander his next draw.
He doesn’t let go of his hand.
The idea of someone causing Luke Skywalker any kind of hurt, well, it doesn’t endear them to Din, not at all. Even if they are ghosts. Luke slowly tells him bits and pieces of what he knows about his father - how he was a Jedi hero in the first war, and the terrifying figure to so many in the second. How Luke combed through records until he found the wedding certificate of one Anakin Skywalker, who had married Padme Amidala Naberrie on Naboo, their love kept secret for so many years. How it was the same Anakin Skywalker who marched on the Jedi Temple in Coruscant, killed children and anyone else who stood in his path.
Every bit he reveals, he does so with great hesitance, like one story will be one too many and Din will leave. Like the actions of his father could ever make Din change his mind - like there is anything that Luke Skywalker could do that would make him not -
“I see him sometimes, watching me,” Luke admits to him. Din stills from where he’s pouring them both more of the awful tea that Luke likes so much.
He can hear Grogu puttering around with the tiny metal ball of his he got from the Razor Crest, rolling it on the stone flooring. Wrapping his hands around his elbows, Luke continues, “He became one with the Force after he died, so he’s there - sometimes. But whenever I try to talk to him, he just leaves. I think he’s… ashamed, but I just wish he could talk to me.”
Din focuses on pouring him more tea.
So when he hears the name Anakin Skywalker and realizes somehow, impossibly, he must have traveled back to a time in which he was able to be standing in front of Luke’s deceased father, who looks younger than Luke at this point, he wonders if this is all some kind of sick game that the universe is playing on him, testing his control.
Because as much as Din would like to fire a blaster right into Anakin Skywalker’s face, he can’t, because he’s not sure what would happen to Luke - or to the future. Din is not fully familiar with the mechanics of time travel, but he’s pretty sure even slugging a Jedi, for crimes of all varieties he has yet to commit when he’s protecting Din from an incoming droid army is not the smartest plan. His head still hurts at the thought of it all, because he’s not sure what it means to be here in the first place.
He’s not sure what’s going to happen to their future. Because Din realizes that he might not ever see Luke again in his time, which means that he’ll never have the chance to tell him how he feels, either.
So it’s not a great situation.